


Go to Sleep

by rabbitprint



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wild Card Switch, Gen, Isolation, Velvet Room!Akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitprint/pseuds/rabbitprint
Summary: AU, Main Character POV. Spoilers for True Ending and Morgana.In which Morgana is the chosen Wild Card, and Akira has a very different role to play.





	Go to Sleep

When you first open your eyes, you're on a train.

There are shapes around you -- _people_ , that's what they're called, and you feel a passing embarrassment that you could have forgotten something so simple. Outside the windows, a dense city rolls past. Words for what you see pour into your mind, as quickly as a book whose pages are being ruffled: skyscrapers, clouds, roads, traffic lights. 

Your bag contains several notebooks and a phone. There's a careful list outlined in a hand you don't recall, stating your age, height, city of origin, and train destination. You'll be attending a prep school; the uniform you're wearing must be part of its colors.

You are also, apparently, a criminal. 

On your phone, there's a note in the calendar app with information about who you'll be meeting in Yongen-Jaya, and a red eye that you recognize instantly as the Metaverse Navigator. 

As the train pulls into the station and the commuters start to file off, you idly thumb open the app. It obediently offers a voice input bar, which flutters with the noise of everyone around you. 

There's a listing already bookmarked in the settings: Mementos.

* * *

Your phone has a name listed in the contacts for you -- Akira Kurusu -- but it could have been anyone's name, pulled out of a hat or off a TV show for all you know. No birthday noted. No address, or emergency contact information. Apart from the calendar memo, it's as blank as you are.

The box with your possessions is packed with pristine, folded clothes. Some of them still have the tags on them. A few items for hygiene, all brand-new and wrapped in their original plastic. That's it, however -- no books, no photos, no hint of what you might have done in the sixteen years before April. No clue to the kind of person you might have been.

You sit back on your heels after you're done with the inventory, and realize that you have a choice. Either you can lie to yourself and pretend that this is normal, or you can acknowledge that something has gone terribly awry in your life. 

If this even _is_ your life.

Someone else packed that box of supplies. Someone else set up your phone. Someone out there knows more about you than you do yourself -- and they haven't shared any of that insight yet.

You have no idea of their intentions.

On your way to your first day of school -- between idle searches on your phone for combinations of your name and various cities -- you trigger the Metaverse app curiously while you wait for the rain to let up, and watch it respond to your voice. 

Unlike Ryuji, you know immediately when the world slips you underneath its skin and into another. There's a shudder of light-headedness, and then the air turns clean and crisp, as if there's too much oxygen and you'll die from trying to fill your lungs to bursting. As you run along the streets, rainbows glitter in every step you take.

You feel the Shadows before you even enter the gate.

The Palace doesn't scare you as much as it should. Ryuji's in disbelief, panicked over every tortured scream that echoes down the halls, but there's a tinniness to the voices that flattens out their realism and makes them sound like mere recordings. _Cognitions_ , you find yourself thinking, another word sliding into your vocabulary, and then _Palace Owner_ when the king arrives. It's not the choice of the Shadow's clothing that causes your nose to wrinkle, but the magnitude of the distortion rippling around him: a heaviness that pulls and warps the castle like taffy, and tries to twist you with it.

But understanding Shadows doesn't make them any less dangerous, and when Kamoshida's Shadow orders you killed, a survival instinct roars itself open and brings your second face to the surface of your skin. It gives voice to your own outrage, roaring, _You have not been made to perish so easily._

_Stand tall, and enact your creator's will._

Afterwards, while Ryuji's shaking from your narrow escape, you pull Arsene back into yourself. You're shaking as well, but for a different reason. Ryuji's in awe of you, but he hunches his shoulders in an instinctive terror, and you wonder how much of your nature he can detect. Like a wolf scenting an imposter to the pack, he might be able to smell the differences in you already. He might know to cast you out. 

Your stomach twists at the sight of his uncertainty.

"It's ok." Calm him down first. "There was a voice inside my head -- it spoke to me, offered to help. It called itself a Persona. It said some other things too. I don't understand it all yet, sorry," you claim, hoping Ryuji will swallow the lie. It's at least half-true: the knowledge was there inside you, even if you don't know why. "I think I have some ideas about what's going on."

* * *

When you rescue the cat out of Kamoshida's Palace, and he reveals himself to be named Morgana, something settles in place inside you with the hard _click_ of a joint snapping back into place. _Yes._ This cat is important. You don't know _why_ he's important, but you should help him with what he needs. Perhaps it's because he's an anomaly, just like you. By following him, you might be able to figure your own mystery out.

Ryuji has different plans in mind, bolting as soon as you reach the ventilation shaft. With a regretful look back at Morgana, you drop out of the Palace and back into the real world, remembering to bookmark the location in the app. You'll be back there again soon. You'll make sure of it.

After you finally get home that night -- enduring Sojiro's reprimand -- you wait until he's gone before you go back downstairs. When you look at yourself in the mirror over the sink, you can see your eyes sheening gold, just like Kamoshida's Shadow.

 _I'm human_ , you think fiercely to yourself, blinking hard. Arsene laughs darkly in your brain. _I'm human. I'm human._

* * *

You agree to Morgana's offer before he's even finished outlining the terms: to have assistance in stopping Kamoshida in exchange for helping him with what sounds like a quest for self-improvement. You're not sure about the details of the latter; Morgana mumbles when he describes it, saying something about rehabilitating his ways so that he can return to being human, but doesn’t actually elaborate on what he's done wrong to _begin_ with. 

"But you guys should get something out of this too," he muses. "Ryuji, you want Kamoshida gone for personal reasons, right? Is it the same for you, Akira?"

The question is horrifyingly insightful. You don't have any wants yet because you don't have any memories of things _to_ want. You cast about for ideas -- money or power or attractiveness, or possibly world peace. Morgana watches you expectantly; Ryuji's already impatient to get started.

"There's this other place listed on my phone," you suggest after a moment. "Can you both help me explore it?"

* * *

It turns out that Morgana and Ryuji are more relieved than suspicious about the sheer amount of information you can share about the Metaverse. Treasures. Calling cards. Cognitions. The knowledge is all there: it is the clearest memory you have, as if etching it into your brain has obliterated everything else. The hard part is explaining so much without revealing _how_ you know, using logic instead to suggest conclusions that fit together as smoothly as possible, and glossing over what seems too perfect to guess. 

"This was all listed in my app," you bluff at last, and pretend to be confused when Ryuji demands to take a look. "At least, there was a help menu last night. Look under 'phantom thievery', maybe?"

Once Morgana starts living with you, it takes a bit of work to continue claiming you have access to extra settings, but he seems content to let you handle the strategy and planning while he focuses on his own personal goal. It's enough of a struggle for him in the real world when he can't be understood by most people; whoever burdened him with the challenge of making friends under these circumstances apparently had little sense of mercy.

There are other things about the Metaverse that are harder to explain, so you don't. You can sense the Shadows before they even arrive, just like you can feel the way the distortions ripple and shift between both worlds. Everything around you feels _alive_. Whispers lick along your hearing, pinpointing Shadow patrols through the walls -- and higher up, far above you, you can sense the slow, sleeping beat of a Treasure just waiting to be found. 

_I have a feeling_ , you claim, whenever you warn the others to pick a particular door or to stay hidden under cover for one more minute. _It's just a hunch._

The one thing you don't tell the other Thieves about at all is your memory problem. Something in you instinctively flinches at the idea: it would be easy for them to look into your history, just as easy as it was for you to find nothing there. You can remember Ryuji's wariness; it plays over and over again in your thoughts. The last thing you need is for them to expose you as a Shadow -- or worse. 

To celebrate breaking down Kamoshida's defenses at last, Morgana declares the entire week afterwards to be a vacation. Ann and Ryuji promptly split off towards Shiho and track practice, respectively. You spend the time trying to coax Morgana into finally concentrating on his studies.

"Make your tools," you remind him, even though you're doing most of the work. Morgana keeps claiming he's helping with the wires, mostly by pushing them off your desk.

"My paws are good, but not _that_ good," he insists. "Besides, I have you around to be my assistant, right?" 

Serious or not, he lets you continue the setup on your own. You try to show him how to craft the easier materials -- no bombs tonight -- but after only an hour of tinkering, Morgana's already restless. 

"I wonder if this will really change Kamoshida's heart," he broods. "I mean, if you guys get expelled, where else am I going to find competent people who can help me?" 

You lower the magnifying glass. "I didn't know you were already so attached to us," you deadpan. "Is it just the free food?"

"Hmmph!"

He gets up and turns around once, then twice on the desk before laying down heavily, as if all his bones have suddenly turned into jelly. His tail flicks irritably, jerking erratically like a live electrical cable as it sends a batch of lockpicks scattering.

You catch them before they slip through the cracks in the floorboards and land in someone's coffee. "Hey," you tell the cat. "Stop worrying. Go to sleep."

* * *

Kamoshida's confession is a sight to remember. You were willing to bet money on it, but anything could have gone wrong, and you're still feeling your way around the Metaverse, trying to fit the pieces in your head properly together. Ann, Ryuji, Morgana -- none of them deserves to be a murderer. A thief, on the other hand -- a thief is a trickster, and you find yourself warming to the prospect.

If you are a criminal, you may as well act like one.

Words that describe the Metaverse are clear and solid. You can speak on them with authority; you know them better than the name that's registered to your student ID. Other words -- for Shibuya, for school, for society -- feel fresh and unused, and sometimes you don't pair them up the way you want. Adjectives and nouns are the worst: tawdry cars, delicious shirts, reclusive bread. Sometimes you know a word in both meaning and spelling, but the pronunciation eludes you as you attempt to read it off the dictionary in your mind. Sometimes you know the kanji, but nothing else. 

Your hesitation in casual conversation establishes your reputation for being quiet, aloof, for offering cryptic phrases and allowing others to guess at your meaning. Couple that with the gossip about your criminal record, and you're already off to a bad start in your new life.

But you're a quick study. By the start of May, you can speak as fluidly as any native, fast enough to keep with Ryuji and Ann. You blend in, ride the subway with ease. Your phone starts to fill up with saved addresses on the map, and you hit your favorite vending machines automatically on the way to and from school.

The Thieves become faster at Palaces, too. When you open up Madarame's museum, Ryuji and Ann are less frightened than fascinated by the sights around them. They’re leaning into the strength that the cognitive world grants them, even if they're not consciously aware of it; the more that the Thieves are believed to be acrobats, the easier they can jump up pillars twice their height, vault off rafters that should shatter their bones upon landing, and run along ledges with perfect balance.

Their confidence helps them catch Yusuke up to speed, when the Thieves increase their ranks by one. 

"Joker _really_ loves Treasures," Ann giggles, and you blush, remembering how you had been hypnotized by seeing Kamoshida's crown. A human's desire made manifest -- you had wanted to touch it so badly, to inhale it into your lungs and choke on gold dust. It had felt like holding a heart in your hands: infinitely precious, infinitely unique.

Luckily, the cognitive world provides enough other distractions for the Thieves to dismiss your quirks. Ann openly dislikes her outfit, but it refuses to change no matter how hard she concentrates. Morgana's ability to handle multiple Personas doesn't go unnoticed, which cycles back around to the question of his transformation again; no one's positive how such a thing could happen outside the Metaverse, including you. 

Your afternoon meetings are full of those kinds of discussions. You're mid-practice in flipping your phone in circles when Ryuji once more refuses to let the dilemma rest. "But dude, if a cat gets bonus powers, why do humans get the short stick? Is it 'cause we get thumbs?"

Morgana looks pensive, or at least as much as a feline can: ears flicking, eyes narrowing, tail moving like a lash. "I'm _not_ a cat," he insists again. "I just did something wrong in the past, and got punished like this. If I work hard enough, I'll be able to turn back into my human self again."

"What do you even have to rehabilitate _from?_ " you ask him, still perplexed by his fixation on the term.

"I don't _know_ ," he blurts. "That's just what they tell me."

"They?"

Morgana only mutters darkly at you all as he tucks himself into a ball on the table. A crime that merits a literal transfiguration must be a serious one -- a punishment that breaks the laws of reality -- but you're still trying to figure out how that would be possible to inflict in both worlds at once. 

You can't blame Morgana for his obsession, though, or how often he reassures himself of his own nature. You remind yourself just as often, whenever Morgana can't hear. 

It's worst in the evenings after Mementos. Trips down there are more intense than any of the Palaces you've been in; everything is vivid to your eyes, the air oversaturated and shimmering. The cool breeze of Shibuya's underground wraps around you like another layer of your coat, invisible armor that urges you on to the next battle without pause. Leaving Mementos feels like stepping off an elevator that has been plummeting through freefall, returning you to a world where everything is empty and flat.

It's harder to ignore the effects the deeper you travel. Power stirs in the back of your mind, feeding Arsene's mischief. Every time the Thieves descend another level, you check your face in Morgana's side mirrors, watchful for any hint of yellow in your eyes.

* * *

It takes a lot of effort to get Morgana set up with potential contacts. For one thing, he's not allowed in half the places where they work -- a doctor's clinic, a church, an arcade. Shinjuku's bars. Instead, you have to memorize the faces that interest him, and then carefully track down more information without appearing like the stalker you are. You haul Morgana around to map out convenient alleyways and people's residences so that you can set up accidental encounters, and then keep half an eye out for anyone who might try to catch a stray.

Tailoring the right circumstances with Hifumi takes a series of maneuvers on par with an actual shogi game -- first, you had to convince her to play outside, since there was no way cats could be left in the church safely without getting caught, and then Morgana had to stop by another day to paw at the shogi board, making moves that were just accurate enough to pique her curiosity. Even then, it had been risky; neither of you had known if she would talk to a cat she believed couldn't understand her, but her style of play refused to keep her silent, and things had progressed from there.

"When I'm human, this is going to be _way_ easier," Morgana promises that night, gathering himself onto the bed and then wriggling over to stretch his stomach out, a black blot against the sheets.

"When you're human," you assure him affectionately, feeling the echo inside you of a thousand Shadows beckoning. You poke his belly until he finally rolls over and stops taking up the entire mattress. "Go to sleep."

The next week is spent trying to plan out a convenient way for Morgana to intercept Yoshida; the politician's speeches always run late into the evening, and Morgana won't be any good in a crowd. Yoshida is always particularly vulnerable after a long night arguing with his detractors. Sometimes he doesn't even make it to the beef bowl shop, but sits down on a bench far away from the train station, and struggles to keep his composure. That seems to be when he opens up to Morgana the most; whenever someone walks too closely nearby, Yoshida can duck his head and hide his expression while pretending to spend time with his pet.

"I'm going to wander around and let you two have some space," you tell Morgana the next time you drop him off at Shibuya, and take care to stay out of sight.

You can only imagine how different this would all play out if your roles were reversed. You're not sure if it would be better or worse. Yoshida might never confess his insecurities to a teenager the same way he has to Morgana. People trust cats differently than someone of their own species; cats, society assumes, aren't the same kind of threat.

You, on the other hand, look as human as Morgana wants to be -- and all _you_ want is just one more day alive like this, one more day where your body doesn't dissolve into blackness. You have nightmares sometimes of ripping off your mask to summon Arsene and taking more than just your skin with it -- to have your limbs melt and reform into a monstrous skeleton, like the helpless Shadows whose true forms are revealed when their layers are stripped away.

You flinch every time you perform a successful ambush. The Shadows keen as they lose their disguises. At the end of long Palace trips, you're always slightly nauseous in the back of your throat from sympathy. Even though you're breaking them loose of the Palace ruler's control, they didn’t ask to be exposed in front of hostile eyes. 

"Shadows are terribly unaesthetically pleasing," Yusuke comments -- more than once -- as you drive through Mementos. "It truly is fascinating once we become able to see them clearly. Some of their shapes may be engaging, but others remain repulsive. They are each so fundamentally different from us."

You manage a dry laugh, and steer carefully around the next one that comes into Morgana's headlights.

* * *

Other encounters are more difficult to establish. "My fur's a _mess_ ," Morgana wails the next week, and tries to groom himself before making a face. "I can't believe how long I had to wait in that alleyway until that reporter came out of the bar. I don't even want to _know_ what I was lying in!"

Taking pity on him, you grab a handkerchief and pour some water across it to try and scrub him off. You don't have a cat brush, so you use your fingers at first for the worst of the gunk, pulling off chunks of residue that smell suspiciously like food sauce. Once Morgana's coat starts to dry, you use your own comb -- can't be picky -- and carefully run the plastic teeth through Morgana's fur to help it unmat and dry the rest of the way.

He's relaxed by the end of it, eyes half-closed, the tip of his tail flicking at slow intervals. Despite yourself, you continue working through his fur, checking for any stickiness or tangles. Treating him like a pet is something you try to minimize in private, though he doesn't seem to mind when you do -- which simply means you have twice the reason _not_ to make assumptions. "Morgana, are you okay with me handling you like this?"

"Nnnnn." Half a grumble, half a purr, and then Morgana stretches his legs, going promptly limp again afterwards. "It's ok. I've got to keep looking my best to impress people, after all."

After that, he's silent for so long that you wonder if he’s drifted away entirely, despite his low-grade purr. When he finally speaks, eyes half-closed, his voice is subdued. "It's different than I expected. I wish they could understand me like a human, but for some of them, like Hifumi... I think this is the closest chance they get to actually _touch_ someone else. So, yeah. It's not as bad as I thought. It really seems to help them. So it's okay."

You glance down at your own fingers, running across his fur even though he's entirely dry by now. "You must be tired," you say. "Get some rest."

* * *

Summer heat slows the pace for Morgana's social life, even as the pressure to change Kaneshiro's heart increases. There are a number of part-time jobs that Morgana just can't pull off as a cat, so you volunteer to work them instead so that you can gather information on some of the Phan-Site requests. The fact that they're all air-conditioned also helps.

Morgana can't remove his fur coat, except by shedding -- which he takes to with a vengeance, spreading hairs all over the attic and earning several exasperated complaints from Sojiro in regards to food service. Not enough to lose points in Sojiro's eyes, however; the man still sets aside scraps from the fridge, claiming that fresh food is better than kibble by far.

"My _stomach_ ," Morgana groans after he crawls back one evening, and casts a piteous eye at the full dish of chicken laid out for his dinner.

You swat his tail lightly. "Maybe you should stop letting everyone feed you and spoil your appetite. You're not going to fit into your collar anymore at this rate." 

"Hey, it's not my fault Ohya saved me sushi," he sputters, and then whines when you remind him that it's already past midnight.

But, while there are some bad nights, Morgana always comes back happy. They're his friends, he says. He had a good time with his friends. They care for him.

And that makes it worth it.

For Morgana, however, all he can see is how much further he has left to go. He frets over Ann almost constantly; despite all his acceptance of being treated like a cat by his contacts, he broods at any hint of the same behavior from her, convincing himself he'll forever fall short. 

"Have you ever cared about someone like that, Akira?" he asks morosely one evening, sprawled out on the couch. "So much that they're all you can think about?"

You have. Over the months, you've watched all of the Thieves return to the fight again and again, refusing to flinch from the hundreds of ways that that people have devised to be cruel. Everyone on the team is willing to die for the sake of changing this world for the better. There’s no map for them to follow -- just your tentative guidance -- but they don't hesitate to take action.

And you love them. You love all the Thieves. Whatever force put you on this world might have instilled a need in you to help Morgana, but any compulsion stopped there. Loyalty could be sewn into your very bones, but not your heart.

This love is your choice.

* * *

After the trip to Hawaii -- which everyone gets to go on, but him -- Morgana's impatience starts to peak. He's been getting stronger with every Palace you go through, gathering Persona after Persona into his bandit's mask. He has connections all over Tokyo. He's doing things right.

But every reminder of the difference between him and the rest of the Thieves continues to burn, and he turns recalcitrant whenever you list out all the things he's accomplished so far. 

"If I've _done_ that much, then I should already be human _now_ ," he fusses, trying to push you all harder to take on the next Palace, find the next target, finish whatever prison sentence he still can’t fully explain.

You try to tell him that being human isn't as important as he thinks it is -- a little desperately, trying to convince yourself in the same breath -- but he loses it completely when Ryuji doesn’t stop making fun of his species, and then takes off, yelling about how he'll build a _new_ team instead.

It works itself out in the end. Morgana's impatience leads him to Haru, and now the Thieves are eight members strong. Futaba has taken over the scanning and analysis work from you -- a role you handed over with relief, glad to no longer stand out with your ability. Her Persona offers dozens of information panels and sensors to help explain where her knowledge comes from. You can't claim the same thing with Arsene.

September is a good month for Morgana. It's a nightmare for you; since rejoining the Thieves, he's become more daring with how much he involves himself in people's lives, forgetting sometimes just how delicate he is in the real world compared to a full-grown adult.

"I bit a yakuza today!" he announces proudly once. "Iwai was _super_ impressed. I might need rabies shots now though."

The next evening, he's giddy with excitement, jumping up and down repeatedly from the tabletop with little _thumps_ of his paws. "And then Kawakami-sensei said that she was going to try again with her students and quit her part-time job at last! All because I reminded her of how much she enjoys taking care of someone who really needs her protection. And then she's going to be able to keep from getting exploited, and we already took care of that couple who was extorting her, and -- "

You scoop him up and hoist him against one shoulder, where he continues his passionate diatribe in the direction of your back. "You did good work," you say, because it's true. "And now that you've _finished_ helping her, she won't have to risk getting thrown out of her apartment for feeding you illegally."

He deflates in your arms, tail drooping. "That's true," he sulks, and then brightens suddenly, digging his claws into your shoulder with his enthusiasm. "However! It's all worth it in the end. But won't she be sad if I leave? She'll think something happened bad to me. I can't just disappear!"

You wince, and carefully disentangle his paws from your flesh. "I'll tell her that you're my cat," you compromise. "Now. Bedtime."

"You're not the boss of me!"

"I stick you in my schoolbag every morning. _Bed._ "

"She _has_ to keep feeding me," he whines, but you pull the blankets up to make his favorite nest beside your stomach, and he settles down anyway, breathing gradually going slower and slower until he's fast asleep.

* * *

You're proud of him. Despite the odds, Morgana is _winning_ this game. He doesn't even have the advantage of a common spoken language, and yet he's managing to change people’s lives for the better. He spends hours giving every inch of support he can to his contacts, struggling to communicate sentiment through the rub of his flank or the twitch of an ear, and he's _still_ managing to succeed.

Hifumi confronts her mother. Chihaya speaks up for herself and for changing fate. Morgana walks up and down the streets of Shinjuku at Ohya's side, encouraging her with purrs and bunts of his head whenever her optimism starts to falter. 

As for you -- you carefully build infiltration tools and handle the part-time jobs, and faithfully carry Morgana from place to place, researching new opportunities for him to meet up with people. It doesn't take up all your time; there's room if you want to pursue a hobby, or to get to know some of your classmates better, but you hold yourself back whenever you're tempted to reach out. 

Because you can't deny it any longer. You don't know what you are, but it _isn't_ human; you're a high school teenager with zero contacts in your phone, an empty email account, and a bank account no older than the day of your arrival in Yongen-Jaya. Your chat log before April is blank. The other apps on your phone have been installed, but never configured. The return label on your shipping box points to an address that doesn't exist. 

A talking magical cat is more realistic than you are.

The only indication of any life you might have had before Tokyo is a single dream of Mementos. It unfurls the same way over and over, where you're clawing your way through a cowl of black ooze, unhatching yourself like a Shadow from its own flesh. In the vision, your eyes are as golden as the first time you got back from Kamoshida's Palace, insisting to an uncaring reflection, _I'm human. I'm human. I have to be human._

You haven't bothered telling yourself that in months.

The dream always leaves you shaky, nauseous, even as Mementos continues to beckon you to visit. The underground always welcomes you whenever you step inside it, stretching out like a layer in your mind of familiar scents and sounds. Even the gloom feels natural. It wants to wrap around you and pull you close to itself; it wants to imbue you with the power that belongs to you, and let you shed the mask of your skin forever.

Each time the Thieves get a new request, you wonder if this will be the day you reach the very bottom, where it won't matter what you do or don't want to be anymore: whatever is inside your nature will win out at last.

The rest of the Thieves are never bothered by Mementos. They bring snacks for the ride and talk about classes; they joke about how creepy the Shadows are and how much they hate the gloom, but always keep on laughing together. 

You drive, eyes on the road, and wonder if you are the only one that Mementos tries to coax like a lover. 

One afternoon, as the Thieves are taking a rest stop, you sit down on the far edge of the platform, claiming that you want to review the request list. You lost count of the floors past thirty; Haru's keeping a tally, but you're too afraid to check.

"Hey," Makoto announces quietly, just as you're wondering if you really could blend in with the other Shadows long enough to catch a ride on their subway car. She takes a seat beside you, scarf dangling over the edge and ruffling in the occasional breeze. "Do you want to leave early? We can, if you're not feeling well."

You shake your head, lacing your gloved fingers together so they don't betray you with an accidental twitch. "Just a little light-headed. It's fine."

"All right," she says, sounding unconvinced, and then tilts her head to study you. "Joker... you're always so nice to the rest of us. We all want to do something for you back, and you say this place is important to you. We bug you about coming down here a lot, but -- if you don't want to, we don't have to."

You shove your nerves back into a tight box with an effort. In the choice between your own feelings and what you know is important, you have to pick the latter. "I think we'll have to find the end of this place to really understand what's been going on," you affirm. Across the rails, another train sweeps by, carrying a fresh load of Shadows with it. "Not just for Mona, but for everyone."

When you glance up, Makoto's mouth is tight. "You really dislike this place, don't you?"

In this moment away from the group, away from everyone else watching -- when it feels like just you and Makoto, a conversation that belongs solely to the two of you alone -- you find your careful protections cracking. Only for an instant.

"No," you confess. "That's the problem."

* * *

Business for the Thieves only continues to escalate as fall settles in, but you're comfortable with it; Morgana's confidence has been growing in battle, and he's a core member of the forward team. His collection of Personas seems to increase by the day, until he's pulling out shapes that none of you have even seen before, let alone fought. 

His relationships keep improving as well, which you know isn't easy; there are significant problems that he's been digging into, some of which have festered for years. He spends time with the rest of the Thieves as well, relaxing with them in the spare time between jobs. You get used to dropping him off with Ryuji or Ann while you wait around Shibuya, or taking him back to school for Makoto and Haru. Once you visited the Kosei dorms to bring him to Yusuke, and had wandered around afterwards looking into the studios, marveling at the art. Sometimes Morgana spends long enough with the others that they text you saying they'll bring him back to Leblanc, and you have to figure out what to do with yourself for the rest of the afternoon. 

You don't mind being alone. You help out Sojiro in the cafe, perfecting your coffee technique until he finally takes a sip and smiles despite himself. It gives you time to visit the stores and restock supplies, or to take extra part-time shifts. It's pleasant to lose yourself in your work. There's a simplicity in handling flower arrangements and ringing up people's transactions for dinner. For a little while, you can pretend that this is your world: where you're a high-schooler out to earn a extra pocket money for a new video game or manga, instead of weapons you smuggle through the train in your schoolbag.

All your errands fill in the spaces whenever Morgana is spending time with his friends. Or _your_ friends, too, rather -- he gets plenty of time with the Thieves, but you don't always get to see them on your own when it's not a meeting, or you're not bringing Morgana by. 

One evening, after you've wrapped up a shift at the convenience store, you stop by the alleyway where you'd dropped Morgana off with Ryuji. Cats weren't allowed in the gym, so they had gone jogging laps around the twisting back streets, trying not to look like Ryuji was participating in animal cruelty. 

"'Sup," Ryuji grins when he sees you. He's breathing heavily, sweat coating his face, but his enthusiasm is as bright as ever. "I was just about to go with Morgana to get some ramen. There's this place that does takeout, right, and they've got this new kinda fish broth, so I figured I'd grab him a bowl and hang out some more outside since the weather’s nice. I'll give him a lift back to Leblanc tonight, sound good?"

You shift the bag on your shoulder, considering what else to do with the evening. "Sounds good," you echo back.

"Cool! Oh -- _shit._ " Ryuji's expression collapses, turning crestfallen. "You wanna come too? I forgot to ask. I mean..."

You glance at Morgana, who's clearly just as hesitant, glancing at Ryuji and then back at you guiltily. You know he's been helping Ryuji figure out what to do about the track team; by the look of it, they're still in the midst of that discussion. 

"It's ok," you reassure them both, and smile. "I can get started on some of the prep for the cafe. See you later tonight."

The train car is half-empty on the way back to Yongen-Jaya. Your bag is lighter without ten pounds of cat; you leave your phone on silent as you ride, watching your reflection in the glass as the buildings streak by. 

"I'm not sure that getting yourself chased by a bunch of sadistic gangsters was the best idea," you say the next evening, after one particular encounter where Morgana hadn't made it to the rendezvous point and you'd had to go backtracking through the alleys. "Are you sure you want to get skinned? Or sold?"

"It made Shinya wake up and realize he was a bully too, didn't it?" Morgana retorts, but he's grateful when you scoop him up and carry him carefully back home, pouring him onto the bed and checking the water level in his bowl.

He's struggling to stay awake by the time you climb back up the stairs with a refill, making half-hearted attempts to get back up to his feet. "Should make more lockpicks," he groans, looking plaintively towards the work table. 

"I read online that cats have to sleep fifteen hours a day," you parry blandly. "I'm not going to be responsible if you pass out in the middle of a Palace."

"Mrrrrfffff," is Morgana's highly intelligible reply. 

He flops back down again, and you try to hide your smile as you finish topping off his water, and then shut the light off.

* * *

"So wait -- if a person can get turned into a cat, why aren't we seeing, like, people-birds? Super rats?" Ryuji complains one afternoon as you're relaxing in Leblanc's attic, going over the list of Mishima's requests. "Cockroaches that were human?"

"Society has a trope for magical animal mascots, you know," Futaba suggests, tilting her laptop to show off an old episode of Sailor Moon. "Hey, when Mona becomes human, do you think he'll still have the ears? That would be so cool!"

"I could depict him with a pair," muses Yusuke next. "An artist's rendition of the human that Morgana once was..."

_"Nekomimi, nekomimi!"_

Morgana wails and complains as Futaba chases him around the attic, hands poised in triangles on either side of her head -- but you can tell that he's happy. Every night, he talks to you about the number of friends he has in Tokyo. Even if he's wearing four paws outside the Metaverse, he's still able to connect with people in ways that matter, still able to have an impact. He can build those friendships despite the odds. Then, he usually gets so overexcited that you have to remind him over and over again to get some rest, which he protests all the while.

You wear two hands, but you understand his delight. Every time you smile at someone -- your employer or your customer, or even just a fellow Thief -- and they smile back, you can feel that thin thread of connection between you, weaving back and forth. _I'm here,_ you find yourself thinking each time, grateful and relieved. _I'm here, and I'm real, and this matters._

_This is me._

But there are days when you're reminded of how limited those bonds can be. One evening in Leblanc as you're drying off the mugs, you stop to watch Sojiro squinting at the daily crossword. 

"Boss," you ask, "will you remember me when this is over?"

He must assume you mean your probation, because the look he gives you is amused. "How could I forget you? You and that _cat,_ " he chuckles. "I really owe him for all that help with Futaba. She just seems a lot more relaxed when he's around. I think it's easier for her to interact with animals than people, sometimes. Of course, we're lucky Futaba's uncle didn’t see him -- but I'm really glad for what that cat's done for her."

Something clenches in your chest, but it's not jealousy. It's nothing as ugly as resentment. It's something you don’t have a word for yet -- you weren't armed with it, which means it isn't part of the Metaverse. Which means, it isn't important.

"Yeah," you laugh, putting a smile back on your face where it belongs. "Who could forget Morgana?"

* * *

October is a disaster. Haru's father dies. Popular opinion of the Thieves plummets. Sojiro promptly discovers Futaba's involvement, and then _all_ of your activities, which unexpectedly leads to even more history about how the cognitive world has been researched. His reaction to being told you're all being led by a cat is predictable; you narrowly miss getting enforced drug testing only because Futaba speaks up in your defense.

"Even if you _think_ he's talking in words, he's still a cat," Sojiro states flatly, once he's settled down enough to not call for some sort of assistance. "People have been medicated for less."

"A _human_ cat," Morgana tries to interject, which doesn't help much, particularly since it sounds like simply more yowling to Sojiro.

"I'm helping to keep him in line,” you assure him quietly -- but Sojiro just continues to shake his head, assuming that one of you is the actual leader, and you decide it's safer that way.

The death of Kunikazu Okumura shakes you personally on more levels than one. Everything you knew about the Metaverse has been accurate until now; to start doubting it implies that _nothing_ about you might be reliable. You rack your brain over and over again for what might have gone wrong, but the conclusion is always the same: someone out there is working against the Thieves. At the least, someone _knows_ about what you're doing, because the timing is too convenient otherwise.

The next time Akechi comes into Leblanc, his reputation magically restored as the Thieves descend in popularity, you make sure to take the evening shift. As usual, he barely pays you any more attention than he would to Ann, or Ryuji. Instead, he keeps staring up at the ceiling, as if he can sense Morgana padding around in the attic, cat paws making no sound.

You keep staring at him.

* * *

Akechi, it turns out, is mildly allergic to cats.

You make sure to let Morgana shed all over every inch of your clothes, and then rub your schoolbag against his when you're on the train to school, concealing it under the jostling of the commute.

* * *

November is harder to navigate with Akechi on the team. His presence is a constant reminder of how little time is left; he's working on his own manipulations, timing the calling card with his schedule, and you can feel the machinery of his agenda cranking relentlessly on. 

Even Mementos feels different with Akechi along; like you and Morgana, he seems to flourish while in the Metaverse, as if the cognitive world is feeding him directly in a self-referencing loop that gluts his power. He is a hero for justice -- heroes are strong. He is a beloved detective prince -- princes vanquish evil. Shadows crawl along behind you as you navigate Mementos, incited by his presence. You feel them scurrying, agitated, drawn to him as if they can sense how willing he is to bend the public's perspective by force. 

Unlike Morgana, Akechi's presence feels so focused that it's almost painful at times. Sometimes it feels as if he's distorting the world around him without even needing a Palace to do so, bending everything around him to fit his perfect story. Being near Akechi makes your skin itch sometimes, restless enough that you start feeling like you want to run or yell or punch the wall -- or fight _him_ at last, bare your teeth at him and take him down in a fight, pin him to the ground as you snarl. After too long in Mementos with him along, you feel feral by the end of it. 

You wonder sometimes what it would be like if he ever tried to exert his attention on you deliberately. 

You check your eyes in reflections whenever the thought crosses your mind, and measure Arsene where he waits, always only an adrenaline rush away.

Akechi's casual strength is a threat you can't ignore every time he strolls into your life -- or your texts -- and reminds you that he's in control. He's given you an ultimatum. He'll have his victory before the end of the month, one way or another.

You're counting down the days. 

"Boss, do you remember the name of that friend of my parents?" you ask over preparations for the next day's curry, trying to sound innocently curious. "I'd like to say thanks if I can." 

Sojiro grunts, flipping chunks of onion off to the side of the cutting board. "Yeah. It's, uh -- no. Hiro-something? Give me a second, it's on the tip of my tongue." He sets down the knife and leans back against the counter, brow furrowing deeply. "No. Sorry, I'm sure it'll come to me. Next time he stops by, I'll be sure to let you know." 

You nod agreeably; you already know that time will never come. "Speaking of which, do you happen to have my parents' number? I wiped some contacts off my phone by accident, and I don't have it memorized."

Sojiro, thankfully, has that much. "Sheesh," he grouses, scrolling through his own contact list. "That's what happens when everything's automatically saved. Here you go. Remember to write it down somewhere safe before you lose it again. What brought this up?"

You speak with half a truth, checking the numbers on Sojiro's screen. Adding the information to your own phone is an excuse not to make eye contact. "Everything that's been going on right now made me realize I haven't talked to them for a while. I figured -- just in case something goes wrong, I don't want to forget this chance."

Sojiro's quiet for a moment, but he nods, acknowledging the severity of the situation you've all found yourselves in. "Yeah. Even if you weren't mixed up in all this, with all the accidents lately, I guess you'd probably want to let them know you're okay. But -- I know I shouldn’t say this, since _I'd_ want Futaba to call." He scrubs the back of his head. "Look. It's up to you if you want to tell your parents how much is going on. But they'll be worried for you. And since they care about you, it's probably kinder _not_ to let them know what you've been up to. This _doesn't_ go for Futaba, you hear me?" he snaps immediately afterwards. "If there's anything she's doing that gets her in unnecessary danger -- "

"I promise," you say, knowing you can't be honest. Sojiro doesn't need to know how many times you've all watched death stampede towards you, held off only by the efforts of an exhausted Persona or some of Takemi's medicine. "And I won't upset my parents. They won't know anything."

That night, you call your parents' number on Leblanc's pay phone. The automated not-in-service announcement picks up after two rings. You're not sure why you might have expected anything else.

"Mom," you say into the receiver. "Are you there?" 

Eventually even the recording gives up and stops, leaving only dead silence behind.

You keep talking anyway, telling parents who do not exist all about your life in Tokyo as a regular student at Shujin Academy: a record of a person who is not, and never was real.

* * *

It's hard to stay calm after you're captured. 

When Akechi joined, you had volunteered to pretend to be the leader in Morgana's stead. The Team had agreed reluctantly; Ryuji had insisted on you all trying to pull straws first. But Makoto had pointed out that the options were limited to you, him, or Ann -- thanks to the Kamoshida case -- and _you_ had pointed out that it would be an easier lie for Akechi to swallow, since you have Morgana with you all the time anyway. 

All of the punishments that the investigators take out on you seem remote. It's only pain. It won't matter what they accuse you of, or what they make you sign. It doesn't worry you too much about how this is all going on your record, either -- on _Akira Kurusu’s_ record, damaging his job prospects and career choices and potential freedom for the rest of his life -- but you stare at the door after Sae leaves. You've gambled your existence on her. It might not be sixteen years worth of existence, but you’ve become attached to the months you've had so far.

All you can do in those next few minutes is wait. Either Sae will take a chance with you, or she'll play it safe.

But her Shadow was a gambler. A rigged gambler -- but still a believer in putting up stakes. And _you_ are the most rigged game of all, because you are nothing what people expect, even from a Thief of hearts. You're not even the ringleader of this story: you're only the side character, the guide, and all guides eventually reach a point where they are no longer needed for the hero to continue on.

Still. You can't identify why, but dying in the human world seems terribly lonely. It puts you in mind of vanishing in a strange land far away from home, a foreign shore with no one to properly identify your body. You wonder if you'll dissolve into smoke, as Shadows do. You wonder what they'll do if there is a body, and no one comes to claim it.

It's all moot, anyway. You _can't_ die yet. You need to help Morgana see the end of this. You're here for a purpose. Mementos is waiting. 

You watch the door and count down the minutes. If Akechi is the one who comes in, then you'll fight. You don't know what you can do in this world, in this form -- what you could warp things to be, with Niijima's Palace only a breath away. You're not sure what you could become. You might not be able to tear a hole right back into the cognitive world and flee there, but Akechi will be expecting a human, and that's exactly what you're _not_ planning to give him.

If it comes down to it, you can accept being revealed as a monster if that’s what it takes to see this through.

* * *

Your faith in the Thieves is rewarded when all the steps go perfectly, and you come back to Leblanc with only a few bruises -- a _lot_ of bruises, actually, along with what could be several sprains and a potential fracture, but you're not telling them that -- and spend most of the next few days lying down a lot, hiding in the attic during the day while you recover.

School isn't a requirement while you're legally dead, so you have a lot of time to think about the next few steps. The Thieves will have to take out Shido -- that much is clear -- but there's an uneasiness you can't nail down. Shido's the top of a conspiracy, but he's not the only member. The entire government's involved. 

And then there's the matter of Akechi. 

Out of all the Thieves, you expect it to be Morgana who might be able to talk sense into him -- Morgana, who's got the same potential, and the same vast powers. But, strangely enough, it ends up being your words that Akechi pauses at, as if the Metaverse has finally granted him the ability to see you clearly for the first time, more clearly than you even see yourself. Like him, you are another creature outside of the expected rules, a Persona user as atypical as himself and Morgana. Another outlier, pulled into this game.

 _We can all become something other than what we were born as_ , you tell him, and he freezes, breathing hard, eyes bearing into you as if hoping you have the answer he's always sought.

In the end, he succeeds.

You think about the three of you that evening as you methodically take inventory of the attic, letting Morgana huddle on the couch under a spare blanket. Akechi rebelled against Shido's expectations. Morgana has a busier social life than most human students could hope for. And you -- you're still in waiting, patiently helping the Thieves come closer and closer to the end of this mystery, even as you've started to realize that you might not be alive to see it.

The dream has been showing up every night lately.

When Sae comes to you all in Leblanc, and the conclusion inevitably comes around to Mementos, you know it's your turn at last.

You volunteer the option -- catching Makoto's concerned glance out of the corner of your eye -- and spell out the logic anyway. "Other things might change as well, though," you add, shoving aside your own reluctance. "And not just being unable to access the Metaverse anymore. This _is_ the cognitive world we'll be going into. It has consequences we might not expect."

Your bravery deserts you there. Try as you might, you can't hint any further than that. Determination does nothing; you try to push the words out of your mouth and fail, unable to pass on the rest of the warning. _I might disappear. I might become a nightmare. You might have to kill me._

There's no doubt in your mind that you won't be able to pretend after this last trip into Mementos. Traveling with Morgana _has_ brought you closer to the truth; you can recognize the different shape of yourself on the inside of your skin, feel the age in your agelessness. There's a fragment of a much greater mystery inside the force that is your soul. You are less than a year old, but you're connected to infinity through the hand of another. Not all the details are completely clear yet, but they're approaching with the weight of a subway train barrelling out of control. When they strike, you will be annihilated. 

All you can do in the meantime is stay calm.

"The final Treasure is at the bottom of Mementos," you tell the rest of the Thieves quietly. This time, you do not explain how you know. "Stealing it and destroying that place is the only way to change the hearts of everyone at once."

It must be done.

Everyone winds their way to the lowest floors, trading off between running and Morgana's wheels. The air pressure shifts like a storm. Everyone else complains of the heaviness, but you only feel lighter; the electrical hum of power matches the beat of your blood, as if it has already started to recalibrate you like an instrument. 

When you reach the Quarantine Cell, everything else seems to disappear in importance. It's a simple door, forged from reinforced steel and bolts that could resist an explosion without even a scratch. Nothing fancier than that -- but you reach out your gloved fingers to touch it reverently. You've seen it before. It has always lurked at the bottom of your heart, and now that you're finally here, the only thing you feel is a sense of yearning and relief to to have returned.

For the first time, memories that have nothing to do with Tokyo begin to stir in your thoughts, unfolding with the same smooth grace as Arsene's wings in flight. 

"Uh, hey, Joker." Ryuji clears his throat. The Thieves are all watching you curiously as you caress the grimy metal. "You okay? This doesn't look like a Treasure."

A final pat of the doorframe, and you turn back to the group. You almost wish you could hold your silence for even a second longer -- but there's no time. The train has reached its station. The point of impact is here.

 _This is where I was born_ , you begin, and then tell them everything.

The Thieves accept the lack of your humanity with surprising speed. Futaba has already thrown herself at you before you're even finished, clinging to your side. You stroke her hair comfortingly and hope she won’t miss you this much when you are dead.

"Everyone needs a beastman party member," she mumbles into your ribs. "We're just lucky to have two."

Morgana had slunk to the ground during your explanation, paws pressed against the floor. "All this time, I've been complaining about not being human," he admits, ears flattened in shame. "But you... you had the same problem, didn't you? You knew, and didn't make fun of me. I can't believe how _stupid_ I was."

You shake your head, offering a rueful smile. "I told you, didn't I? It's not as important as you think."

But Futaba keeps hugging you and then Haru joins in, and then _everyone_ does, Ryuji pounding his fist against your back, Ann's hair against your cheek, Yusuke's long arms bringing you all together. Makoto holds you tightest of all where she can reach, your hip against her stomach and her head pressed into your shoulder. 

"I _knew_ something was bothering you," she says fiercely, and then grips hard enough to bruise a kidney.

"You coulda _told_ us!" Ryuji pulls at his mask to rub at his eyes. "Dude, you didn't have to try and deal with something like this alone!"

The only person who holds back is Morgana. He waits until everyone else has disentangled themselves, and then he waves insistently at your hand until you kneel, extending your arm out in curiosity. Without hesitation, he grabs your palm and sets it on his head, staring at you intently. It's confusing; he's never asked to be pet in public, and you've never assumed you should try.

Then, with a startled jolt, you realize what he's doing. 

_For some people,_ you remember him saying, _this is the closest chance they get to actually touch someone else._

When you let your fingers slip away, ashamed at his insight, he catches them in his paws. "You were lonely too, weren't you," he says. "I'm sorry, Akira. I should have noticed. I should have seen."

_Lonely._

The acknowledgement splits something open in your chest. It finds the tiny cracks left there from every quiet conversation you've had over the months -- with Makoto, with Ryuji, with Sojiro and more -- and rips apart all your careful control. It hurts to be seen; it hurts as much as you always thought it would, but you never expected this to be the source, or to be such a relief. You close your eyes tight; Arsene shudders under the revelation, unfurling himself from a tight ball of feathers into something new, something that stretches into every inch of your body and gives you the strength to lift your head again, to face the pulsing walls of Mementos and your fate.

You rise to your feet and look at them all, lined up and ready to remake reality if they must. They've all come such a long way. You owe it to them not to flinch now.

Makoto is already working through the practical ramifications, her logical mind analyzing and reordering the details of your confession. "Does that mean that your whole arrest record isn't real?"

Your throat is sticky; you clear it, focusing back at the task at hand. "It wasn't a coincidence that my master chose Shido as the culprit. There _was_ an assault. There was a victim. But," you continue softly, "I wasn't there to stop it. I'm sorry." 

Comprehension hits Makoto like a slap. She winces visibly, and then looks away.

Over the years, the full extent of Shido's network has allowed for thousands and thousands of crimes to be brushed away and buried. Unrecorded forever, they slip between the courts, leaving a history of scars which people cover silently and try to force themselves to forget.

Unrecorded. But not unnoticed.

"The legal system doesn't know that though," you continue. "It was only a matter of suggesting the right paperwork -- I was lucky that my master managed to do that much. As far as the record goes, the probation is real. The consequences for getting caught have never been fake."

Around you, Mementos suddenly shudders. Futaba jerks her head up at the same time as you catch the scent: there are Shadows en route, coming too fast down the halls towards you all.

"Listen," you say, more quickly than you would like, because the danger has only been growing while you've delayed here. There are so many things you have wanted to tell the Thieves for so long, but couldn't while pretending to be a normal high-school kid. "Nothing goes unnoticed in this world, no matter how small." The words of your master are in your mouth. "So long as there is a bond between you and another, there will _always_ be a connection."

With that, you brace yourself as the Shadows plow around the corner. One last, regretful look at the Quarantine Cell, and then you’re all running for cover, deeper into the labyrinth, deeper towards the threat for all of reality.

* * *

You don't know how relieved you are to come home until you finally arrive. The Grail erases you from the public mind, but in the darkness, the Velvet Room catches you safely. For a nauseating moment, you cannot feel your master properly -- but then Yaldabaoth's control is broken, and the air in the Velvet Room flows clean again, running through you like a cold river and restoring you fully, washing away every cobweb that had lingered over your identity and every fear of where you belonged.

You push open the kennel door, and step onto the main floor.

You've never seen this particular shape for the Room before, but you know the two people who are present, and for a moment, all you can do is be wildly grateful that they know you back. This is your home. This is the place that welcomes you. For the first time in your existence, you are in a place where everyone knows exactly who _and_ what you are, and you can leave your masks at the door.

Your master gives you a grave, but satisfied nod. It is a motion that carries the momentum of ages behind it; your actions have been measured up against countless other possibilities, listed against an infinite web of choices. You have not been found wanting.

The attendant leaves the desk and approaches; the heavy fabric of her dress hisses with each step. She, too, is radiant with approval.

"Lavenza," you say, and even that is a comfort, to speak with her in such familiar terms because she is your peer in the truest sense. She has already accepted and understood you in every degree; you have nothing to fear from her. 

She smiles, gesturing for you to kneel so that she can look into your eyes directly. "Akira," she responds in kind, and touches your face as lightly as an insect's wing, brushing at the lopsided mess of your bangs. Once she is convinced of your health, she relaxes. "Morgana is already here. He is coming to terms with the knowledge that his transformation was only a deception on the imposter's part. He began this path on the grounds of a false promise, and must now decide if he wishes to continue on further, when there will be no reward. That much is _his_ responsibility to bear," she adds swiftly, seeing you gather your weight to rise, already looking over your shoulder in search of him. "You have done your part, and more."

Air slides out of your lungs in a long sigh. After all those months of worrying, of wondering, to be given this reassurance is like a balm. "Do you think he'll give up now?"

Lavenza considers, and then shakes her head, although her hand tightens on the Compendium. "We believe that the bonds he has made will show him the value of protecting humanity, whether or not he is made human himself. If he is also able to retrieve his companions from their own cells, they will all be free to face the imposter. Yet, if the minds of humanity remain closed, the Phantom Thieves will merely vanish again once they leave the Velvet Room." Her gaze is steady on you. "This is the last task we must ask of you, Akira. Shine brightly, and let the people remember the dreams they have forgotten. The Wild Card needs your light."

You glance towards the corridor. As much as you wish you didn't have to ask, the question comes out anyway. "And what will happen afterwards, Lavenza? When my purpose is complete?"

"If Morgana succeeds -- which he must -- then you know the effect it will have upon the Metaverse. But that does not mean your existence must hinge upon this alone." Lavenza's hand closes into a determined fist; her voice is strong. "We have perceived you, Akira. We _will_ remember you. Master, could he not stay here with us, even if they should forget?" 

Your master deliberates when you both turn to him, drumming his fingers upon the desk. "We are each here for our own tasks, Lavenza. Have you not considered how cruel it might be if you fulfilled yours, and then had the Velvet Room closed to you forever? However," he continues around her downcast eyes and chagrin, "all things have the right to transform. Like the Wild Card, our guide could discover another reason to live, another purpose. Yet, he has the choice to seek rest as well, after all he has done. You cannot make that decision for him, either."

"Of course, Master," Lavenza murmurs, and offers a sympathetic frown as you finally rise to your feet.

"Steel yourself for what has yet to come, little one," your master intones. He sweeps his hands over the cards spread before him, and they flip obediently to reveal their Major faces. With a flick of his finger, he orders the Magician into the air; it darts in a rapid arc around you, looping in a mobius strip that leaves afterimages imprinted on your vision. "The game is not finished yet. You must still lead the Wild Card to victory. Are you ready?"

* * *

Dying, it turns out, hurts. It hurts a _lot._

You manage to keep smiling until your friends vanish, until the entire _world_ vanishes into pure brilliance and takes you with it. The Metaverse closes its borders and drags you along, slicing relentlessly through your ties between it and the real world. Like an executioner's blade gone wild, it severs through your atoms; your body dissolves into pieces, sorted left and right across the boundaries. 

You can't tell when you started screaming, or for how long. Everything is in agony. You shouldn't even have a voice anymore, or lungs to empower it, or a face, a mouth, a tongue -- 

Barely breaking through the sensation of every nerve unraveled, you hear your master’s voice, giving one final order that you cannot refuse.

_Sleep, little one. Go to sleep._

* * *

You open your eyes with a gasp.

You're in Shibuya Square -- whole, intact. The pain is only a memory; your master has spared you the worst of whatever happened, smothering you under unconsciousness so that you did not have to suffer. 

Sae finds you while you're still standing there and flexing your fingers, marveling that they're all intact.

As your hands drop to your sides, you realize the remainder of the choice stretching out for you now. You exist. You exist because there is something _here_ that you must do, ties that give you meaning and form in the real world even with the Metaverse gone. You know, with the same certainty that has given you words for Palaces and Personas and bonds: you exist because the Thieves do.

Sae's words are clear. The police can't arrest a cat.

But they can arrest _you._ You already posed as the leader once before. This is the last way you can help protect your friends.

You're prepared.

Your phone buzzes with a dozen panicked messages from your friends. _Are you there, Akira? Are you alive? Please talk to us._

_Please be there._

You turn it off and hand it to Sae, and go with her to your fate.

* * *

You spend most of your time unconscious while in solitary, as much as you can manage. Lavenza can visit you more easily in your dreams; her butterfly dances on your arm, trailing blue streaks in the gloom. 

"Choose the Velvet Room," she encourages. "Be free and return to the master's side. There will be other Wild Cards to assist, I assure you. Come home."

"I'm here already," you point out, because sleep pulls you back each time to rows of empty kennels. Morgana's Velvet Room needs some tidying before getting fully deconstructed. Each visitor reshapes the space for their own needs, but this time, the Room had ended up being directly linked to Mementos, and had been used to shelter other visitors in the bargain. It could use a good scrubbing to make sure no unconscious biases remain. Yaldabaoth was a terrible housekeeper.

Lavenza sighs as you soak the mop in the bucket of water and continue to wipe down the stones. Her duty is to set the Compendium dormant again; each Persona that Morgana had contacted needs to be coaxed out from the pages, leaving the book fresh for the next user. "You punish yourself for naught," she chastises softly. "And after all, would a miraculous escape from solitary confinement not be considered appropriately daring for a Thief?"

You flip the mop around a particularly stubborn corner. "As long as the police need someone to blame, they can't have an empty cell. They would punish the rest of the Thieves." Soap bubbles drip on the stones. "I'm the only one of us with nothing to lose."

The quiet of prison has an unexpected peace. Like the Velvet Room, you no longer have to worry about your nature or your missing memory, because there is no one here who might be frightened. You have no family on the outside; you don't even really belong in school. This should be, in comparison, a paradise.

But there's nothing to occupy yourself with in your cell, nothing except your memories of the Thieves, and you don't want to give those up. You keep thinking of Futaba, and the way she had settled into Leblanc every morning and most afternoons, having breakfast with you while Sojiro smiled and coaxed you to class. Of Yusuke, delightedly showing off a whole series of new sketches; of Haru, sharing fresh coffee with everyone as a way of saying thanks. Of Makoto, announcing that she had finally decided what to focus her studies on. Of everyone.

They're safe out there. You did your job well. You don't have to worry about anything else anymore. It's complete.

You start waking up later and later in the day; there's no reason to get up on time. You start missing meals, but it works out -- your appetite begins to wane, so you barely notice when the food is cold, or unappetizing, or if they've removed it entirely for being untouched. 

Lavenza is the one who protests. "You have a human body still, Akira," she says the next time she visits, examining you with the same concern as the first time you met. "You must eat."

You turn your arm with what feels like a monumental effort, allowing your hand to fall palm-up, fingers extended so that Lavenza can play cat's-cradle with it. "I will."

You don't. Lavenza feeds you thin miso soup from your food tray, propping your head on her lap while she carefully tilts the bowl. After you choke down as much as you can, she sets it aside and wipes your face down gently with a damp cloth, and then your arms and hands. She tends to you as carefully as if you were ill with a fever, and you want to speak up and assure her that you're fine -- but you're too tired to speak. You're just too tired.

Another day slips itself into the gaps between that moment and the next. You rouse unexpectedly, nudged awake by Lavenza's careful hand on your brow. She frowns again; you're not sure why. 

It's dark in your cell. No -- it's dark in the Velvet Room. The central spotlight has been shut off; it's lit now only by the occasional glow of candles phasing in and out, their azure lights flickering against stone. Lavenza's eyes are tiny suns in the gloom. Her fingers are warm on your skin.

"You need to focus, Akira," her voice is saying. "The part of you that belongs to the Metaverse has been closed away with it, for now. In time, that world will open again through another avenue, as it has so often before. But the part of you here remains of concern. It would not do to have a resident be trapped like this, even one who is currently in human form. Our master does not wish you to suffer, Akira."

"Our master said I could decide what to live for," you counter, closing your eyes. "I've decided."

But reality is different from your determination. Your thoughts seem fuzzy all the time now, even when you're in the Velvet Room. You're half-asleep while dreaming, too exhausted to move. Pieces of the prison melt away around you as you lay still and watch them vanish. Lavenza strokes your hair, your head in her lap, and turns the pages of the Compendium as it empties itself Persona by Persona.

"Akira," she says. It takes a moment for you to realize she means you. The ghostly form of Shiki-Ouji pulls itself free from the book; there are so many more blank pages now than you remember. "Do you truly wish to return to the vast sea of the unconscious, as our master suggested?"

The question holds no meaning. You're not sure what you should answer with; all you can think about are the Thieves, content in new lives far away from here.

"I miss them," you whisper, the same mindless resistance to any and all offers of succor. Lavenza's strings wind around your fingers, the coarse thread fraying against your skin. "I can't leave yet."

You sleep so much that the days lose all boundaries, and it becomes harder to remember why you should wake up, or what waking even looks like. Your body feels as if it's dissolving. You're blurring away like one of Morgana's Personas, lost between books.

When you're finally called out to meet with Sae, it's a struggle to stay alert for the time required to put your clothes on properly and wash your face. Your fingers don't seem to want to work properly. Seeing her is like seeing something from another world, one full of brightness and speed, whose laws no longer apply to you.

She frowns when you stifle a yawn. "Didn't you hear me?" she asks. "I _said_ , you're finally free to go. Thanks to all your friends, we were able to finally dig into your conviction and prove that the papers were falsified. The arresting officer on the file doesn't even exist. Since you were guilty of no original charges, the police are willing to let this matter go in exchange for you remaining silent on the matter."

"My friends?" 

Sae is shaking her head now, bemused by your sluggishness. "And there's more good news. It seems your parents set up funding for you to continue staying in Shibuya, if you'd prefer. You'd officially be under guardianship of your cousin... Lavenza, her name was? Is she foreign?"

At mention of Lavenza, you finally blink and straighten up again. For a moment, your realities slide over each other in a messy collision; this must be a vision of the Velvet Room, or you've created a distortion yourself somehow. Or, deprived of the Metaverse, your brain is envisioning it here instead, and you've lost yourself in your own mind without even realizing it. 

But Sae looks solid enough, without a hint of playing cards anywhere on her body, and you watch in disbelief as she pulls out her phone, thumbing through the files. 

“Anyway, your friends seemed to think you would be reluctant to see them again, so Makoto made me promise to show you this. Though, truthfully, if _I_ had left everyone wondering if I was dead or alive, I'd hesitate to face them too. Here," she announces, and then turns the screen towards you.

At first, the video is shaky. Leblanc's interior jitters around, juggled by whoever's trying to record. Once it stabilizes, Ann's face comes into focus first, and then Makoto's -- and then Yusuke and Haru as well, Ryuji leaning over the side of the booth to try and fit in the frame. They're all talking at once; their voices are a chorus of yearning.

"We thought you disappeared, but then you were on the news, and Boss said that Makoto's sister came to him, and then -- "

"When you started _glowing_ , I must say -- "

"We went around to _everyone_ Morgana made friends with and told them you were his owner, and that you were in trouble -- "

"I told ya, you shouldn’t do this alone! You're part of the team too! And we're _gonna_ look out for each other!"

"You cannot leave things like this, Akira. Come back!"

And then, as the camera flips around -- showing the floor first, and then the ceiling -- Futaba's face finally comes into view, Morgana half-perched on her shoulder and howling. 

"Akira!" the cat is wailing. His tail lashes; one paw reaches for the camera lens, flailing hard enough that he almost loses his balance. "If there's a place for me, there's a place for you too! _There's a place here for us both!_ "

The noise must sound to Sae like nothing but an animal's screech; she winces visibly, holding the phone away from her as far as possible, leaning away from the glass with her arm extended.

But you're laughing, you're laughing, and your eyes are wet and you can't see the phone clearly anymore, so you drop your head into your arms to sob into them, noises coming out of your mouth without your control. Even that pain feels good, like something in your chest is waking up again with all the electrical fire of a dead limb coming back to life. You can feel your friends' hearts pulling towards you, their memories keeping you solidly here in this human world. You chose to have a purpose here, but they were the ones that gave you that opportunity in the first place. They never once let you out of their thoughts.

They remember you.

A flutter of blue wings dance through the corner of your vision when you lift your head to try and wipe your eyes dry.

 _Nothing goes unnoticed in this world, no matter how small_ , Lavenza reminds you in a whisper, her voice relieved and gentle. _Dream well in this mortal life, Akira, until it comes time to dream with all of us again._

You smile at her, and then nod to Sae, rubbing your face again as you try to regather your composure. "I'm ready."

That night in Leblanc, after everyone's finally gone home and the cafe has been locked up, you scratch Morgana behind the ears, and then climb the steps to the attic. The heater's been refilled. All your clothes are clean. Sojiro's put down fresh sheets.

You pull back the covers, wait for Morgana to settle in beside you, and go to sleep.


End file.
